


Mirror to My Madness

by Yulyeong



Series: The Merlin Arts Fest 2014 [2]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Canon, M/M, mentions of torture, themerlinartsfest2014
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-13
Updated: 2014-07-13
Packaged: 2018-02-08 15:37:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1946658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yulyeong/pseuds/Yulyeong
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A teaser for a Merdred fic I am currently working on. </p><p>Mordred's escape from Camelot after Kara's death comes easier than he thought, until he realizes that Merlin followed him. </p><p>Written Prompt: <i>Every time they looked at their hands, they saw the same thing and thought the same thoughts. And it always brought them back.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Mirror to My Madness

**Author's Note:**

> Written by [me](http://kingslayxr.tumblr.com/) for the first week of [themerlinartsfest2014](http://themerlinartsfest.tumblr.com/), using the written prompt: _Every time they looked at their hands, they saw the same thing and thought the same thoughts. And it always brought them back._ Not sure I like how it turned out, so I will probably re-write it.

Faint lines, old lines, worn lines. Maps that bled and wept, that cried crimson tears for hatred and love alike. Labyrinths that splayed character and color across pale skin, words that wrote stories and told a history of pain, betrayal and agony, of courage and life. The told of the last days of freedom, and the first days of bondage, of whims and wishes taken, and orders and imprisonment given.

They were marks unlike any the boy had ever received, scattered across the back of his hand in a puzzle of thin and thick lines, white and red. They were a symbol of life and pain, of the death that he had evaded, and the slavery he had been forced into. 

They reminded him of the wrongs done against him, of his own betrayal and ultimately, his capture.

_Emrys had abandoned him, abandoned Kara. If he had a choice, Emrys would have had Arthur hang him alongside her. Emrys had never trusted him, never given him a chance. Not when he was a child, and not when he had saved Arthur's life. To Emrys, Mordred would always be something unwanted, an outsider that would never be able to prove his loyalty._

_His opinion meant a great deal to the druid, but Emrys was not the reason that the druid had chosen to join the knights of Camelot. His reason was Arthur Pendragon.  Arthur, who was said to be the King that would return the freedom of magic to the lands of Camelot. That was a man worthy to be followed, one with honor, who would not let his people suffer under his rule, as they did under his father's._

_Or so the druid thought, until he witnessed the King's true nature when dealing with druids._

_Mordred knew he could not remain in Camelot, not after what had happened. Not after how the King had shattered the druid's faith in him and his destiny when he took Kara's life. All the druid had ever wanted was the freedom for her people, much like her knight counterpart. Mordred knew then, when the King murdered her for her beliefs, that Arthur Pendragon would never be the man to return magic to the land._

_Morgana, on the other hand, was determined to do just that. It was to her that he ran to, after he escaped Camelot. It was her that he put his hopes in. She was violent, dark and sadistic, but if she returned magic to the lands, then she would have his unwavering loyalty._

_Through forests and fields he traveled, away from the place he had briefly called home, away from the men he had called bothers and the king he had called friend. Away from the man that was said to be his savior, and away from the tantalizing magic that the man held around him at all times, unaware of the power that he possessed. It was to freedom he ran, with his shattered hopes and dreams, desperate for them to be returned to him._

_He never expected Emrys to follow him._

 Morgana had been Mordred's last hope. He knew that Merlin would never do what needed to be done, Arthur would never come to accept magic if he was not shown the beauty of it by someone he trusted, and his queen would follow his rule. It was for Morgana that the druid took the pain, in hopes of escape. In hopes that by distracting Merlin, Morgana would be able to kill the King, But Merlin knew. Merlin always knew.

And he punished Mordred all the worse for it.

The scars proved how much of a child the druid truly was. He thought he had grown, had matured, had felt enough pain to know the world, but Merlin had proven him wrong. Merlin had shown him true pain, the pain of betrayal. Where Mordred had thought he knew the disappointment of lost hope and drowned dreams, Merlin had shown him the utter desolation of hopelessness and defeat.

Mordred thought that Arthur's betrayal was the worst he would suffer. Merlin had proven to him that there was one betrayal to come that would be worse: his own betrayal. Not Merlin's betrayal, for Mordred had felt that twice before, as a child, but his own. When Merlin stole his will from him, his freedom. 

_The moon hung high above the clouds, lazy in the silver light it flooded the sky with, all the sharper in the chill of the night. Mordred huddled beneath the black cloak he had brought with him, sitting with his back pressed against an old oak. He had run all day, to escape Camelot, and a safe distance away he had finally allowed his body to succumb to fatigue. The journey had tired him, true, but the emotional pain of losing Kara had tired him more. He promised himself a few hours of sleep, to recover, before continuing. He was certain that Morgana was only a few more hours away, and he didn't want to waste more time than necessary._

_It was Merlin's magic that Mordred first felt. A soft flicker, at first, calming in the way it caressed the drowsy druid. Even if he had been asleep, he would have recognized the feel of Merlin's magic. The warmth that Merlin's magic brought him, comforting in the way it brushed against him, had Mordred believing, at first, that Merlin came to join him. That Merlin had seen the horrors of his King, and was finally convinced that Arthur was not the man he thought the king was._

_The thought brought joy to the druid. He always wanted Merlin near him, even when he was a child. Merlin's magic was intoxicating, and though the man himself had never accepted Mordred, he had seen how Merlin treated those he did trust. The druid wanted that, wanted to be as close as Gwaine and Percival were, as close as Arthur was, but Merlin had always kept him at arms length. Perhaps, with Merlin finally on his side, Mordred would have the opportunity._

_Mordred was aware that Merlin could have come after him to end his life. He would not put it past the warlock, who would do anything to ensure his King's safety. But Merlin had never been successful at ending the druid's life. Not when he was a child, when Merlin could have easily abandoned him and Arthur in the tunnels, or killed the druid in the woods. Not when he was a knight. Why would Merlin be able to kill him now?_

_When Merlin finally stepped out of the shadows and into the silver pools of moonlight, his eyes glowing molten gold, Mordred realized that the warmth of his magic was not meant to be comforting, but constricting._

_He drew his sword too late, threw his hands up with a burst of magic seconds after Merlin murmured something softly. The druid's body froze, unresponding, and stiff. It was with soft words that Merlin admitted that he didn't know if the spell would work at first, but seeing that it did, he was pleased, for it meant that he wouldn't have to end Mordred's life._

_Mordred's magic could not hold a flicker of a flame to the roaring inferno of Merlin's magic. He stood no chance when Merlin tightened the bonds, nearly suffocating the druid. Mordred had thought that Merlin would kill him then, end the possibility of his precious King's life being forfeit by the druid, but at the last second something had flashed through the warlock's gold eyes, and he had relaxed his magic enough for Mordred to suck in a breath._

_That look in Merlin's eyes had fear arcing through Mordred's veins. It wasn't fondness that had saved the druid, nor was it mercy. It was something else that had stilled Merlin's hand. Something more dangerous than love or kindness. It was pity. Pity, that lead to darkness and possessiveness, that led to life instead of death, and imprisonment instead of freedom._

_Mordred would have preferred if Merlin had killed him then._

_Merlin's magic hovered around him, in him, controlling him, forcing him to follow. Mordred stumbled wherever Merlin led him, unable to do anything other than obey. No matter how hard he fought, his magic was nothing. It was the whisper of a breeze against the stone walls of a castle, with little to push or pull on. Merlin controlled him._

_The cave that Merlin brought him to was dark, but the walls glowed with a faint light. It was ancient, infused with magic, but not kind magic. This magic would not help the druid, for it sided with Merlin. Merlin, who was forever stronger, forever more in tune with magic than Mordred could ever hope to be._

_I t was there, in the deepest bowels of the glowing cave, that Merlin cast Mordred. Tendrils of magic, as thin as a string of silk, created a wall where there previously was not one, a wall that only Merlin could pass through. Only after securing it did Merlin finally turn his attention to the druid, and let his anger be known._

_Anger towards Mordred, for abandoning Camelot. Anger towards his king, for his stubbornness. Anger towards Morgana, for allowing herself to be twisted into darkness. Anger towards himself, for not having saved her, or Kara, or Mordred. Anger at failing his King._

_It mattered not what the anger was aimed at, Mordred felt it all the same, and his screams echoed Merlin's wrath._

But Merlin never could truly trust Mordred. Not as a druid child, not as a knight of Camelot, and not as his prisoner, completely at the mercy of the ancient magic that the sorcerer possessed. That was where the scar on the the druid boy's palm came from. 

_When Merlin showed up in the cave, holding an elegant silver blade, Mordred had breathed a sigh of relief. Physical pain would be nothing compared to the magical pain Merlin had caused, and the druid even welcomed the change. A knife would be a tickle in comparison to the sensation of Merlin tearing him apart from the inside.  
_

_When Merlin kneeled down beside the druid's broken body, eyes glowing gold as he reached for Mordred's hand, that Mordred realized what the warlock's true intent was. That was when he started struggling, legs kicking out and magic flaring to throw Merlin away, but the warlock had too good a grip on him, and the knife slashed out, cutting deep into the druid's flesh. Mordred's magic gave out then, his strength abandoning him as Merlin let his hand go, slashing his own palm with the silver blade before casting the blade out of the druid's reach._

_It was all the druid could do not to weep as Merlin pressed his bleeding palm to the druid's, whispering soft words over their joined hands, blood mingling as magic sealed their fates._

_In that moment, Mordred knew he would ever escape Merlin. His life was tied, for better or for worse, to the warlock's life._

The enslavement, unwilling through a blood bond sealed with ancient magic, was not what finally shattered the druid. It was not the torture, nor the ever present press of Merlin's magic, trying to tear its way into the boy's mind. What had shattered the druid was when Merlin stole his magic.

Merlin, who understood the soul wrenching pain of being separated from a part of yourself, a part that held courage and passion, war and love, pain and pleasure and sanity together with the comfort of its presence. Merlin, who knew how it felt when a sorcerer's magic was torn from him, thanks to a trick Morgana had played on him.

A vile trick, one that not even Mordred would have resorted to, but without the druid to council her, the witch had turned the darkest of evils, and stealing magic from the warlock had seemed nothing to her. Mordred hadn't been present, trapped in his eternal cage, but he had felt the thrum of the magical detachment from Merlin. To the druid's disappointment, the cage nor his bond with the manservant had broken with Merlin's loss of magic. He had felt how much pain Merlin was in, through their bond, and had suffered the hours of agony alongside the manservant, as if he too had lost his magic.

And yet, even after that, after having experienced the loss of magic himself, Merlin had taken Mordred's magic.

  _The soft footfalls alerted the druid to the warlock's presence, as he had become numb to the feel of Merlin's magic. Magic that had tortured him, had torn him apart from the inside, burned and bruised him on the outside, and hurt deeper than anything ever had. His body always throbbed, his mind weakened, his soul broken. No, Merlin's magic held no feel for the druid now, for the druid only felt his own pain._

_Merlin uttered not a word as he slipped past the barrier. He usually didn't. He preferred to remain silent, to only speak when he couldn't keep his own pain and frustration in, and even then, Mordred could hear the shame in his voice. Merlin was ashamed of what he was doing to the druid, and yet he kept coming, week after week._

_But this day was different. Merlin's very silence was shameful, and when the druid glanced away from the red welts on his wrist and up at the warlock, he saw Merlin's gaze focused on the stone wall. What, Mordred wondered, could Merlin have in mind for the day's session that could possibly be any worse than binding him unwillingly to the warlock?_

_Mordred wished that he had not asked that question of himself, for soon he figured out. It was not done the same way as Morgana had to the warlock that Merlin stole Mordred's gift, his very soul, but through blood._

_Merlin, who had saved him as a child, condemned him as a man, and binded him to the warlock through a blood bond, simply gazed up at Mordred with eyes begging forgiveness, and whispered soft words. Words that their blood bond heard, and through Merlin's magic, drew the druid's magic out of his very being and into the warlock._

_Forgiveness was the last thing he would receive, Mordred vowed, as he screamed his pain, as he cried at the emptiness in his chest, curled up for the abandonment of his own magic, and cursed the warlock who ran trembling fingers through his hair and begged the druid for forgiveness._

_Merlin begged him to understand why he had to do it; because Mordred was still too dangerous with magic, even imprisoned as he was, and the warlock needed the magic to save Arthur._

_Mordred could forgive Merlin for the torture, for the blood bond, even for allowing Kara to hang at Arthur's hands and allowing his people to continue to be hunted, but he could never forgive him for taking his magic._

Even after taking Mordred's magic, Merlin came back. The torture was halfhearted, even kind compared to what it had been before, as if Merlin was scared that he'd break the druid if he hurt him anymore. Little did Merlin know that he had already broken the druid. Or perhaps he knew. Mordred found that he no longer cared, not about Merlin, nor about Arthur, nor about Morgana. All he wanted to do was escape Merlin and return to the druids. Perhaps they could fix him, return his magic and heal his invisible wounds.

His dream of a life with the druids after escaping quickly came to an end, however, when Merlin stumbled into the cave months later, shaking, seeking forgiveness once again from the druid.

Merlin had let his people die. The druids, peaceful in their never ending quest to come closer to their gods, had done nothing. Nothing except possess magic.

Merlin had never come through with the promise he had once made Mordred; that one day their kind would not have to live in fear, but they would be freed by the King Pendragon. Only... Arthur Pendragon had never come to accept magic. Merlin never showed him the goodness in it, the beauty and life that it could bestow on those who used it properly. 

_It was not magic that was evil, but the heart's of men._

Morgana's heart was blackened by pain and hatred, the betrayal of Uther Pendragon and her fear for herself. It was a disease, her fear and her rage, one infectious to all that came near her. Arthur Pendragon was simply one of her victims, unknowingly allowing it to poison his heart. Once Arthur Pendragon had slain her, he had vowed to end the existence of magic in Camelot forever. It was deemed too dangerous, too uncontrollable. All those with magic were to leave Camelot or be forced, and any who refused to leave would be put to death.

Even with her defeat, Morgana's disease lived on in her half-brother. And Merlin was the one who let it fester.

Merlin allowed his precious King's heart to be clouded by hatred for Morgana and her people. Merlin, who refused to reveal his magic to his King, even with the threat of extermination of his people. Merlin was the weak one, who could not bear the thought of losing his friend, the man who hated his kind.

But what of the others? The druids who would lose their homes, their families, their lives? Of those who had already lost so much, suffered more than anyone had the right to? Of Mordred, who had lost his parents, his mentor, his best friend, and the woman he had admired? How could Merlin be so selfish, to allow the deaths of hundreds in an attempt to remain by Arthur Pendragon's side? How could he be allowed, when so many had lost so much? Was it not fair that he, too, would lose someone dear to him in the fight to free magic?

It was fair, but Emrys had never played fair in the past. Why would he start now?

  _I will never forgive the wrongs you have done to me or my people, Emrys. No matter what you do to me, no matter in life or death, I will never forgive you._

The scars that covered his hands, so faint that they could barely be seen by firelight, were what gave Mordred motivation. They inspired him to rise each dawn, to break fast as the sun's first rays caressed the hilltops, to train with steel and practice with fire. They gave him strength to move his broken body, to summon his magic and little by little will it back, will it to return to him.

They were a constant reminder of his pain, of all that he had lost in his quest to free his people. Of all his people had lost, when their savior had decided to forsake them. The suffering of thousands and the deaths of hundreds were all written in the maps carved into the druid's flesh. 

Inequalities done by a selfish God who cared only for his own wants. A God who wanted to know no losses, no pain, even if it meant inflicting that pain on others to avoid it. A God who had binded an unwilling druid to him, by blood and magic, to ensure his victory. Who had possessed, used, and destroyed said druid boy's magic in order to protect the very man that the druid wanted harmed. It went against nature, against the laws of magic, and against the mortality of mankind.

One day, Mordred vowed, he would repay Merlin in kind. After all, blood bonds worked both ways.


End file.
